Feeling the Difference
by AceandDeuce
Summary: After having to kill Madison, Sam starts to realize that sometime, somehow, something in him has changed... is changing...  PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!


_**Feeling the Difference…**_

By: Ace of AceandDeuce

_AN: So this is the first thing I've posted without my sister being in on it. And, well, she doesn't know that I'm posting it. Originally a two-shot by the two of us, she's slack and I decided that I liked mine good enough to post it on my own. So here it is. Written only by Ace of AceandDeuce. Just as a reminder, I don't own these guys, I just let them wonder around in my head for long periods of time. The brilliant minds of Kripke and the other really smart people over there own all the people, places, and objects (cars) in this story. I'm just a devoted fan biding my time until the new season starts. __**Also, this takes place just after "Heart" and before "Hollywood Babylon". **__Enjoy!_

_**Song: "Burning Bright" by Shinedown**_

_I feel like there is no need for conversation_

_Some questions are better left without a reason_

Silence. Who would have ever thought that silence was so damn loud? Sam leaned his head against the glass of the Impala's window as Dean put miles between them and Madison. No, not Madison, Madison's body. The body that they had left in her apartment, the place set up like the scene of a botched robbery. Only nothing was taken. But there was a body. Sam swallowed, trying to rid himself of the remnants of earlier tears. Every time he blinked, he could clearly picture her body where they'd laid it out on the floor in the living room, her lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, all of her life scattered around her. And her blood… The memory of the bright red color of her blood alone was enough to make Sam's gag reflex kick in. The blood that had been all over his clothes as he'd held her while she died, had covered his shirt, his jeans, staining everything. Regardless of how many times he'd tried to wash his hands, Sam was convinced that, for maybe the first time in his life, there was still blood on them. Neither he nor Dean had said much of anything since pulling the Impala away from the apartment building, only enough to get the "crime scene" together. Dean had taken Sam's clothes, put them in a black plastic trash bag, and stuffed them in the trunk to dispose of later. The hum of the tires on the road was a sound that had always been soothing to Sam, but now… now it was just one more reminder of what had happened, one more reminder of what he had done. He didn't see the trees flying past or the other cars, people, houses. But he could see Madison's face, begging him to finish it. _I can't do it myself. I need you to help me… I want you to do it. I want it to be you… This is the way you can save me. Please… I'm asking you to save me._ And, oh God, he'd asked Dean to do the same thing… He understood now. He understood how Dean would feel, how he was sure that Dean would just as soon kill himself than have to live with this feeling, that in having to kill Sam, Dean would die too. It wouldn't just be this dead, empty feeling inside of Dean, that it would be the end of Dean, period. Swallowing, Sam abruptly reached forward and turned the radio on. Maybe, maybe noise would drown out this roaring between his ears, because, when he'd pulled that trigger and watched the light in Madison's eyes go out, something fundamental in him had changed.

_And I would rather reveal myself than my situation_

_Now and then I consider my hesitation_

Maybe it was that he could see himself in her position. Maybe it was that he knew that, at some point, some day, he and Dean may be in the same position, but on opposite sides of the gun. Whatever the case, Sam could feel something different in himself, and he knew that it was something he'd been ignoring for awhile now. Instead of ignoring it now, he tried to rationalize and pinpoint exactly what had changed and when the hell all this had happened. He knew it hadn't happened like a lightning bolt, or like that semi hitting the Impala… he would have sat up and taken notice. The difference was more subtle, like a virus or a fungus, slowing growing and taking root. It was creeping in more and more. Hell, it hadn't been that long since he'd shot Dean; he had lifted a gun and pointed it at his brother, for God's sake. He had shot to kill him. Maybe it started then, Sam considered. But, if he were honest with himself, this change had been happening longer than that, maybe been happening all along. That thought genuinely scared the shit out of him. He had been changing, without any conscious knowledge, for who knew how long and into who the hell knew what. Dean shot him a glance, almost immediately turning back to the road in front of him. And, in that instant, Sam was glad that Dean had no idea what was going on in his own head. He hoped that Dean thought that his current mood was due to what had happened with Madison, and at least mostly that's what his mood was about. Idly, Sam knew that Dean was much smarter than that, but maybe he could ignore Dean's intelligence on this one. Not likely, but maybe. Maybe he could feign ignorance, pretend that Dean couldn't see the change happening in Sam. Reaching out again, Sam changed the fading station, flipping around until he hit another classic rock station. Dean looked at him again, his brother's hazel gaze burning into him, concerned, before flashing away. Sitting back, Sam shifted positions, stretching his legs out, his own eyes focused on the white line streaking down the side of the highway. Who knew where they were going? Running a hand through his hair, Sam leaned his head back, taking a deep breath. Who knew where he was going? Or who he was going to be when he got there?

_The more the light shines through me_

_I pretend to close my eyes_

_The more the dark consumes me_

_I pretend I'm burning…_

_Burning bright_

For the majority of his adult life, which, face it, meant the majority of his life period, Sam knew that Dean kept his game face on, stuffing all of his emotions, concerns, feelings back in a box somewhere. Sam knew that Dean thought that he had to look strong for Sam and Sam had always been the one who said everything that was on his mind, who told Dean what he was thinking, feeling. It was almost ironic, Sam mused, that the positions had been changed. Dean was questioning his role in the whole hunting evil plan, and Sam was pressing them to continue the fight; Dean was telling Sam more and more how he felt, and Sam was stuffing more and more of his feelings and concerns in a box. No, a box was too small, maybe the trunk of the Impala. That was much more of an apt metaphor. Sam was now the one struggling to put on his game face every morning. His game face was fundamentally different from Dean's in one key way, though. Where Dean's was mostly about emotions, at least that's what Sam thought, Sam's was about everything that he was. Sam was hiding the fact that something inside of him was changing him, slowly, piece by piece, breaking him apart and putting new pieces together. Sam was pretending that everything was fine, that nothing was wrong with him, that nothing was different… Maybe that was his biggest lie, that nothing was different. Madison had certainly shown him that something was different inside himself. And, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he was terrified. Shutting his eyes, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wondering if this was how tired Dean felt all the time. Hell, he felt like he'd aged a good twenty or thirty years in the past couple hours. How long had it been since Madison died? How long had it been since his dad died? How long had it been since Jess had died? Maybe trying to find out when the change had started was a fruitless task, he decided. Maybe trying to pinpoint what had changed, what was fundamentally different was the key. As he took another breath, Sam thought again about how damn tired he was of all of this.

_I wonder if the things I did were just to be different_

_To spare myself of the constant shame of my existence_

The sun slid below the horizon in front of the Impala, causing Sam to squint before reaching up to pull the mirror down to block the brightness. How long had they been driving? How far away were they? Would they even hear about Madison's death on the news when they stopped? Dean turned the car abruptly into a two pump gas station off the side of the highway. As he crawled out, he didn't ask Sam to do anything, just started filling the car with gas. Sam was grateful Dean didn't ask him to move; he wasn't completely sure if Dean had asked him to do anything, if he would have been able to do it to his brother's standards, even something simple like paying for gas. He needed more time to hide the difference, more time to replace the mask. Swallowing, Sam ran another hand over his face, his eyes darting to the mirror in front of him. The eyes that stared back at him for a moment weren't his own; he had no idea who he was looking at. In jerky movements, he flipped the mirror back up. Anything to not have to look at himself for a little longer. Dean's head appearing in the driver's side window and calling his name startled him, making him jump. "Sam," his brother asked, "you want anything?" _I want to tell you how screwed up my head is right now. I want Jess to still be alive. I want Madison to be alive. I want a house and a dog and everything to be alright. I want you to not have to do this anymore, Dean. I don't want to do this anymore. I want Dad to still be alive. I want the Demon to never have messed with our family, with anybody's families. I want Mom to be alive._ Clearing his throat, Sam answered quietly, "Nah, I'm okay." Dean met his gaze for a second, forcing him to lie to his brother… again. "I'm fine, Dean," he continued. "I'll be fine." Dean nodded, leaning up and walking toward the tiny convenience store. But now, since he'd started down this train of thought, Sam could not manage to derail himself. If the Demon hadn't come for him… God, everything would have been different. Not different the way he felt different, but different in a right way. Things would have been the way they were supposed to be. It was his fault, regardless of what Dean said, or his Dad had said; all this was his fault. Maybe… No, he refused to let himself go down that path. This was the way things were now.

_And I would surely redeem myself in my desperation_

_Here and now I'll express my situation_

Dean dropped back into the Impala, sitting a couple packs of M'n'M's onto the seat between them, one peanut and one plain, with a bottle of water and a soda. Sam looked down at the items as Dean pulled the car out of the station, back onto the highway. God, Sam loved his brother. Even if Sam said he was fine, Dean kept taking care of his sorry ass, even if he didn't want him to. He wouldn't come right out and admit that he was doing anything for Sam, but he bought plain M'n'M's knowing Sam didn't like the peanut ones Dean preferred, substituting water for a soda. Sam's gaze flicked up, meeting Dean's over the snacks. "Thanks," Sam said, giving Dean a sad half-smile, picking up the M'n'M's and ripping them open, tossing a few into his mouth. His brother shrugged, a hint of a smile tipping the corner of his lips up. Clearing his throat, Dean said, "Thought we'd get another 50 miles or so under us before we stop for the night." Sam nodded, mechanically. Realizing Sam wasn't going to say anything else after a long moment of silence, Dean turned the radio up, the sound of Boston's "Peace of Mind" filling the space. Sam wanted to tell Dean everything, to open up like he'd been begging Dean to for so long. He wanted to be honest, to tell Dean that he wasn't fine, that he wasn't sure what had happened, but that he wasn't okay. That he needed help. Crunching down on a couple more M'n'M's, Sam looked at how low the sun was, almost completely below the horizon line now. Maybe… maybe Sam could fix everything. He'd failed at saving Madison, but he could do better. If he just hid how bad everything was getting, hid the difference he kept finding, he would be okay. He could be okay for Dean. He needed redemption; he needed to pay penance for what he had done. He could fix this… Who was he kidding? All he could do was hide what he was becoming. Finishing the bag of candy, Sam folded it between his fingers, reaching for the bottle of water, cracking it open.

_The more the light shines through me_

_I pretend to close my eyes_

_The more the dark consumes me_

_I pretend I'm burning bright_

When Dean pulled the Impala into the backwater, run-down motel's parking lot, Sam wanted to groan. It wasn't that he noticed how disgusting the place looked. It was that, for him, they weren't nearly far enough away from Madison. "I'm gonna go get us a room," Dean told him, climbing out and stretching. "You get the bags." Sam followed his instructions, watching his brother lope across the lot before moving to the trunk. Turning the key, he pulled it open, using a shotgun as a prop. His chest tightened as he saw the black plastic trashbag, its contents a physical manifestation of his difference. Swallowing back bile that had risen in his throat, Sam glanced away from the bag, instead picking up the two bags filled with clothes and the weapons bag. He closed the trunk again, grateful that Dean was headed back across the lot, a key in his hand. He let Dean take one of the bags, shouldering the other two by himself. The brothers said nothing to each other, just silently went through the motions of settling to a seedy motel room for the night. The weapons bag was opened, a handgun put in the nightstand between the two beds, Dean's bowie knife slid beneath the pillow on his chosen bed, the one closest to the door. Once the weapons were in place, the two men looked at each other across the room. Dean broke the tentative silence, "I'm gonna grab some food. You have a preference?" Sam shook his head, reaching down into his duffle. "I'll just get a shower." It took him a minute before he realized Dean hadn't moved yet. His eyes moved back up to his brother again. "You sure you're okay? 'Cause, ya know," Dean started awkwardly, "if you need to talk…" Sam held up his hand, cutting Dean off before he kept rambling. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to sob; he wanted to bare his soul to his brother, letting both of them share this burden. Instead, Sam answered, "Not yet, okay?" His brother looked so simultaneously relieved and concerned that Sam wanted to put him at ease. Forcing a smirk, Sam asked, a joking tone sounding hollow in his own ears, "And since when does Dean Winchester _want_ to _talk_ about _feelings_, huh? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Dean barked a laugh, shooting him the finger before sticking a gun in the back of his jeans and walking to the door. "Whatever, Francis," he jabbed back, "just don't use all that hot water to shave your legs. God knows, nobody's gonna look at those boney things." As Dean got just outside the door, Sam chucked a pair of rolled up socks at his brother, causing another laugh to come drifting through the closing space. Sam walked across the room, locking the door and leaning his head against it for a moment, letting the mask he'd been wearing over his emotions drop completely. He took a deep breath, feeling his shoulders rise and fall, the weight on them heavy. Sam stood straight again, knowing that he didn't have much time before Dean would be back. He had to make the most of what time he had.

_There's nothing ever wrong_

_But nothing's ever right_

_Such a cruel contradiction_

As he moved under the shower's lukewarm water, Sam sighed. How long had it been since a shower's water was hot? He let the water beat against his neck and shoulders, bracing his hands against the grimy shower wall. He didn't know how much longer he could keep lying to Dean. Whether about the difference that kept getting greater inside his own skin or about how he really was, eventually, Sam knew that something was going to make him snap, or he was going to lose it completely. Every time Dean asked Sam if he was okay, Sam's defenses broke just a little bit more. Things hadn't been okay with Sam in years, maybe since before he could remember… maybe since his Mom had been killed. And, even as wrong as things with Sam were right now, even as he tried to figure out what intrinsically about him had changed, nothing about his life felt right, either. He was existing in some kindof purgatory, a no-man's land between okay and dying. One end or the other would be better than this hell.

_I know I cross the line_

_It's not easy to define_

_I'm born to indecision_

Sam slung a towel around his hips, running both hands through his shaggy brown hair. Stepping over to the sink, he looked at his own reflection, barely recognizing the face that stared back into his own. There were dark circles under his eyes; his face was marred by deep, but scabbed over scratches. But the biggest change was in the eyes themselves. Jesus, they weren't even the same as they'd been a couple days ago. He leaned forward, his face close to the mirror. Brown eyes stared back at him, the same shape as his own, the same color, but there was something different. It wasn't just a change inside of him, or at least, it wasn't now. Whatever the hell was rearranging itself within his psyche was moving out. His eyes were flat, no spark of anything hiding inside them, no emotions visible in them. And, as surely as he had recognized it in his reflection, he was sure that Dean knew, had known. Somewhere, at sometime, something had started happening inside Sam and, somewhere, at sometime, there had been some kindof line between his mind and his body that had been breeched without his knowledge. But, maybe, he should've seen it coming. A year ago, he wouldn't have been here, in a run-down motel room, waiting on Dean to bring food back. A year ago, he wouldn't have been caught dead back hunting. A year ago, he wouldn't have aimed a killing shot at his brother. A year ago, he wouldn't have shot and killed Madison. There had been a line… not any more. He was past that line, ignorant of when he had taken that step across it. Sam's back straightened, jerking away from the mirror.

_There's always something new_

_Some path I'm supposed to choose_

_With no particular rhyme or reason_

Okay, so, something isn't right. Check. What now? Absolutely keep the new development hidden from Dean. Absolutely keep faking his okay-ness with his brother. But what about with himself? What could Sam do to keep this difference from spreading any further? Grabbing his tooth brush from his duffle, he turned back to the mirror, keeping his eyes off of the image in front of him. What the hell was he supposed to do? The way he saw it, he had two options, fight it or ignore it. And, with the same breath, he knew that ignoring the growing change wasn't an option at all. All he could do was fight what was happening. Fight to keep himself normal, well, relatively normal. Shoving the toothbrush bag in the bag, Sam stepped into clean clothes to sleep in. If he could have gotten away with it without Dean realizing it, Sam would have thrown towels over the mirror. But he knew that his ever-observant brother wouldn't miss that move. A short pair of knocks on the door, followed by three more announced Dean's return. Sam unlocked it, letting his brother enter before locking it behind him. Dean's arms were loaded down with food and drinks, burgers from the smell of it. And Sam knew that his burger would be cooked and fixed exactly like he liked it, that the fries were be perfect, and that some kind of chocolate dessert would conclude the meal, a sweet and sugary confection Dean hoped would brighten Sam up. And Sam would let Dean think that all of his attention to detail was making Sam feel better.

_The more the light shines through me_

_I pretend to close my eyes_

_The more the dark consumes me_

_I pretend I'm burning…_

Sam lay on his back in the darkness, staring through it at the ceiling. He knew it was almost three A.M. He also knew that he hadn't slept at all. He was going to keep pretending that everything was okay. He was going to act alright, for him and for Dean… maybe especially for Dean. Sam took a deep breath and let that whole realization settle in. Everything was going to look okay. For his brother, he was going to make everything alright and they weren't going to talk about what was happening. He was going to let Dean be the protective older brother and he was going to play the younger brother, letting his hero of a sibling take care of him. For Dean, Sam was going to pretend that he couldn't feel the difference that was happening inside him.

_I feel like there is no need for conversation _


End file.
